


Even Now, Even Here

by MerlinTides



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Empurata, Gen, Light Angst, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 08:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9811190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerlinTides/pseuds/MerlinTides
Summary: Tarn's stress is getting to him, and he remembers things he would rather forget.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Tarn's true identity. This hasn't been beta read, so sorry for any mistakes. Thanks for reading!

For Tarn, stress piled up far too quickly. 

He and the rest of his team had just returned from a hunt that hadn't gone particularly well. They had succeeded, of course, but the battle to subdue the target had been strenuous and long. Nickel lectured them all while patching them up upon their return, as injuries ranged from minor cuts and scratches to a gunshot wound in Tesarus' shoulder. It had been minor, and he had insisted on carrying on, but it was hard for Tarn to look at. It always was. Spilled energon was one thing, a squick that he had learned to push through. He could, though just barely, handle the sight of the mangled remains left over from his team's work. But seeing one of the few mechs he was close to injured and bleeding left Tarn shaken. Tesarus was tough, and he recovered quickly with Nickel's expertise. Despite this, the thought of the bullet straying somewhere more vital would not leave his mind. Tesarus would be alright, but Tarn would still worry.

He retreated to his quarters as soon as he possibly could. The second the door shut behind him, he transformed, relishing in the feeling of relief that washed over him. He went back and forth a few times, just to be safe, and poured himself a drink. He sat, put on some music, and removed his mask, doing everything he could to unwind. It was refreshing for him to hear something other than the Empyrean Suite. That song had become an anthem of brutality, one that he had used to cover the screaming of his victims ever since his days at Grindcore. It seemed tainted nowadays, no longer beautiful, but rather a stark reminder of the horrors he had to commit for the Cause.

The Cause, he thought, looking down at the mask sitting on the table, was his reason for living. It had always been his drive: serve his Lord, and in fighting for Cybertron's peace (through tyranny), serve his people as well. He found purpose in this, in his service. Purpose that he chose for himself. 

He thought back to the days before the war, the days where he had been in danger, every day, for having a unique ability that had no relation to the purpose the functionists had given him. He remembered fighting the senate in smaller ways, by fighting to protect the hotspot with Orion Pax and the other outliers. His existence had been an act of rebellion in its own way. He recalled fondly the first time he had read Lord Megatron's works, the first time Megatron had taken an interest in him. He remembered the warmth in his spark. It set him at ease.

He finished his drink, and with thoughts of his Lord still swimming in his brain, he made his way to his recharge slab and fell asleep.

Soon, his optics came online again. Sitting up, he froze, startled. He saw red. His old chest and legs. He felt his spark sink, horror creeping over him. He steeled himself, and summoned the courage to look down at his hands. 

No.

_NO._

Claws. Three hard, unfeeling, unnatural claws where his hands should have been. He whipped around frantically, standing up and moving to the screen on the nearby console. His reflection confirmed his fears as a single blue optic stared back at him.

In his panic, he had not noticed that this was not the Peaceful Tyranny. It hit him suddenly that he did not know where he was. He did not know _when_ it was. His memories were blurred together in his terror. He couldn't place what was going on. The thoughts running through his mind showed him his first arrest, the trial, where he desperately had tried to explain that it had been an accident, that he wasn't a rebel or a terrorist. He saw his sentence, the word screaming in his skull in the cold-hearted voice of the judge: Empurata.

He began to shake, and tried to reach out and turn the console on. He had to check the date, contact someone, anything to ground himself. The console flickered to life for a moment before pain shot through his body, and the screen shut off. It was happening again.

He whipped toward the door, reaching out to press the button to open it, but the pain rocketed through him again. The door was broken. He was trapped. The room was bare, with only the console and the slab on which he had been sleeping. It was small, too, smaller than he had first thought. Lord, was it getting smaller? 

He screamed. It was all he could do. He yelled and wailed, pounding on the door until he heard a noise on the other side. 

"Damus?" asked a voice. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. The sound of his original name surprised him. 

Before he could respond, he heard another.

"Glitch." The voice said, different this time. It sounded like Senator Shockwave, his old mentor. 

"Glitch." This time, the other outliers, in unison. 

"Glitch." said Orion Pax.

"Glitch." said Megatron.

The voices began to overlap, he wanted to tell them to stop. That wasn't his name. He had stopped correcting people a long time ago, as they never listened when he protested against the nickname. Soon, it was too much.

He looked at his reflection again, and at his claws. He looked up, and the walls were tighter again. The voices did not stop.

He couldn't block it out, he couldn't think, he couldn't escape it. He felt himself hit his breaking point, and before he noticed it was even happening, he cried out as loud as he could.

"STOP!" 

For a moment, the voices did. Tarn closed his eye and dared not to open it as he waited for the walls to crush him, for this to end.

"Tarn?" A voice cut the silence. It was concerned, soft and familiar. He became aware of a hand on his shoulder, and jolted awake.

His eyes opened to Kaon, nudging him gently. He looked around to see his room, just as he had left it, with Helex standing at the door. He must have pried it open, they must have heard him yell.

He looked down at his hands. Five fingers on each, but he counted them, just to be sure. He closed his fists.

"Bad dream." he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm fine. As you were." Embarrassment burned in his chest. He was maskless, but the others didn't seem to care about that.

Kaon gave Helex a look, but they both nodded and left him be, Kaon giving his shoulder one last squeeze before exiting.

Tarn vented deeply, and reminded himself that he was safe. He was whole. His Lord had made him whole again long ago. He had people who trusted him, cared about him. He wasn't a mistake.

He made a mental note not to drink strong engex before bed, and moved to his desk to start work on the next traitor on the list. Shortly after booting up his computer, Kaon pinged him the information he'd collected on the target. Tarn sent him a "thank you" and began devising a strategy. He counted his fingers as he typed, just to be sure, but soon put the thoughts of his past behind him once again.

He had a purpose to fulfill, after all, and he was thankful for it.


End file.
